


If You're Gonna Lie

by maraudertimes



Series: Fatal Pleasures [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: FFT, F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Infidelity, Next-Generation (2009-2040), Sexual Content, Smut, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24104911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudertimes/pseuds/maraudertimes
Summary: Never come back,my head screams.And above that, the wish that grows louder with every heartbeat,Come home.What can I do when I can't live with the truth but I can't let you go? Perhaps the French were right - you kill a small part of me with every touch.
Relationships: Molly Weasley II/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Fatal Pleasures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747987
Kudos: 3





	If You're Gonna Lie

The candles have nearly burnt all the way down, flickering ominously in the dark room. I pour the rest of the wine from the already depleted bottle into our glasses, each with an amount that would disgrace my parisian mother. By the time mine is done the candles are out and I reach across the untouched meal to grab yours, for the second time tonight. Unbothered by the darkness I abandon the food and move to the chair in the corner that sits against the window. These days it's more familiar to me than you.

The street below is softly lit, passerbys strolling by every so often. With each one I try to imagine what they're doing, why they're walking down this particular street at this particular time. A recent pastime, people watching has become my excuse for staring out the window, waiting for you to come home. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into an hour and suddenly the soft snowfall outside seems to make its way inside, cold enveloping me and leaving wet spots across my cheeks.

With a wave of my hand the now empty wine glass flies towards the sink, dropping unceremoniously with an ear scratching shatter. Wandless magic was always my strong suit, but I doubt even using the instrument would've helped after an entire bottle. My eyes are cemented on the street, my head and my heart at war with each other.

 _Never come back_ , my head screams. 

And above that, the wish that grows louder with every heartbeat, _Come home_.

When the tears become too much I finally move again, making my way to the bathroom. No matter how much it hurts, I never want you to know. Because if you know that I know, then what happens next? It's as simple as a quick wash with cold water that should feel frigid, but nothing registers except the bright red stain the wine has left on my lips.

The watch on my wrist vibrates, and your hand moves from _Lying_ to _In Transit_. A house-warming gift from my father when we moved in together, it now only serves as a reminder of the pain you continue to inflict upon me. Then again, if I didn't want to know I wouldn't have made the modifications, so isn't it my fault?

Even so, I make my way back to the chair and wait, the pain in my chest only dulling when the bright blue of your hat makes an appearance. You aren't insistent, your indifference cutting the already open wound even deeper, slicing through the stitches I was using to keep myself together. It's all I can do not to scream at you to leave me alone, to hold me forever. But even through the window you leave me speechless.

Part of me wants to clear the table, to vanish the evidence from our forgotten plans, but part of me wants you to see it. Because you'll love me harder to make up for it, and no matter how hard it is to pretend not to see the signs, every touch of your lips is worth it. So I wait, until you open the door, before turning away from the street below.

The lights flicker on, illuminating the remnants of wax and wine scattered about the kitchen, the forgotten dinner at the center of it all. No hesitation, no second glance, I can tell that you aren't surprised.

"I'm sorry. I completely forgot." _Lies._ "The guys wanted to go for a drink after work. I guess the time completely passed me by. _Lies_.

But I keep quiet, because no matter how hurt I am, you're here. I move through the fog of pain towards you and press a chaste kiss to your cheek. "It's late, let's go to bed."

"Molly, I'm so sorry. I promise I'll-"

"Make it up to me," I finish. "I know, Cedric. So make it up to me."

This time when I kiss you, I pour everything into it. You don't hold back either, but even when I can recite your excuses by heart I still don't know what you're thinking. My shirt hits the floor and yours soon follows, the only thing we seem to be able to get right - undressing each other without words.

My breath becomes laboured as your lips attach to my neck and make your way down my body. "I'm sorry," you whisper against my skin. "I'm sorry." It's the same words, always the same words. But at least in bed they sound like they could be real.

My pants come off and your hot breath hits me where I need you the most. My body is on fire but my blood is made of ice, and with every languid stroke of your tongue, every curl of your finger inside me, the war inside me rages on. And when I cry out, I can't tell if it's from pleasure or pain. You make your way back up my body, the unbuckling of your belt ringing in the empty silence.

Slow, it's always slow these days. There's no urgency in what we're doing. I would call it making love except that there's no love in the disconnect. Maybe fucking if it didn't feel like we're trying our hardest not to break whatever is between us. And it's so goddamn slow.

"Stay," I breathe, and you pause. Maybe you know what I mean and are choosing to pretend that you don't. "Stay."

"Am I hurting you?"

Then again, maybe you aren't pretending. "No. Don't stop."

It's still so goddamn fucking slow. You finish with the almost ritualistic whisper, "I love you."

I can only answer with a kiss because my heart is soaring and my head is spinning. If only for a moment, I believe you. But then you turn away from me and the illusion is shattered. It's almost insurmountable, to get up and make my way to the bathroom but I do. The mirror laughs at me, your kisses taking over for the wine. Perhaps the French are right - it truly is the littlest of deaths. Every night I spend loving you ends up with another part of me lost, dead, and now I can't even recognize the girl staring back at me.

When I slip back into bed you don't stir. So I lay there, allowing the silence to engulf me. I desperately want to reach out and touch you, but just like every night before I wait. Your figure rises and falls with every breath, in then out, over and over. And then, like every night, the name slips out from your dream.

"Cassie."

Isabelle. Evangeline. Miranda. _Cassie._

Every new name is like a knife, plunging into my already broken heart. By morning I'll be able to pretend like it never happened. But right now, in our bed, I let the tears fall silently. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title and the inspiration of this story comes from If You're Gonna Lie by Fletcher


End file.
